Somos 4-Life

By Nancy León and Celia León

A common theme in life is death. Those who lose someone to death must find a way to continue living. Grief was not something for me to understand or even question. Grief was something I had to experience. For a long time after Ricky’s death, I woke up unable to see the morning sun. Two questions overwhelmed my mind; why did Ricky die, and what am I supposed to do now? One day, the morning sun found me. Like the reassuring touch of my Mother’s tender hand, the sun’s warmth landed on my face and gave me peace.

It was important for me to remember my soul mate and to grieve. Our life
was not always perfect, but we were in it together. At times, we did not have
to make things work, they just did. I realized that because love was at the
core of our relationship, it should also be at the core of my grief and that
pure love sustains all.

Overtime love flowed back into my heart like a stream that grows into a river and powered my recovery. From my heart I could hear the melody and see the
radiant colors of life all around me. Familiar with how love sounds and what love looks like I was alive again. Then, I came across a Crow Indian legend. It was as if
someone placed a story in front of me and pleaded to give it life. I surrendered my heart and started to write. Guided by the sound of my spirit and breath of my soul I revived the Crow Indian legend by weaving threads of my life into the story.

When someone dies their voice and their stories are gone but the essence of
their love remains forever in someone else’s story. Somos 4-LIFE is my story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781982239916

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Copyright © 2019 Nancy León; Celia León.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-3990-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-3992-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-3991-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019920181

Balboa Press rev. date:  03/17/2020

Table of Contents

Melodías (Melodies)

A Veces (At Times)

De Colores (of Colors)

Mi Amor (My Love)

Te Quiero (I Love You)

Sentimiento (Feelings)

Mañanitas (Mornings)

Razones (Reasons)

A message from my Mother:

Listen. I want to tell you something about grief. You might be up one minute and down the next. Be patient. Every day will take care of itself.

"A bird does not sing because it has an answer.

It sings because it has a song."

~ Chinese Proverb

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Melodías (Melodies)

Have you ever felt someone’s eyes touch your soul and make you feel as if you were the single and most important reason for their existence? Ricky made me feel this way from the very first moment I saw him. I felt Ricky’s indomitable spirit softly touch my soul from across a crowded room, and I noticed him instantly.

It was a Thursday night at Lechugas, a small Italian restaurant and lounge located on the corner of a quiet street on the Northern side of the city of Denver. Lechugas was a very old-fashioned establishment with a picturesque setting. They served the best little runts in the world; a dago dog with home-made sausage wrapped in dough much like a big pig in a blanket but better because they included awesome tasting chile peppers that when activated made your mouth water profusely. When you walked into Lechugas your eyes were immediately drawn to the small cabaret tables facing a rectangular stage. The interior was darker than what you would expect because of the age and architecture of the building. The tables were carefully arranged very close together like tiles in a mosaic which did not leave much room for walking around to mingle. The only thing missing from this picture was the typical red and white checkered picnic cloths that one would expect to drape the tabletops in a place like this. The lounge resembled Ricky Ricardo’s Cuban Tropicana Club from the 1950’s American TV series I Love Lucy, only Lechugas was Italian and not Cuban. The restaurant walls were donned with historical black and white photographs of musicians and entertainers from the late 1960’s. One vintage photo in particular featured the five members of the legendary Rat Pack: Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop standing in front of a 1967 Vegas Strip. The lounge was not extravagant or elegant by any means, but I thought it was acceptable for a casual night out during the work week. My friends begged to differ and rarely accompanied me to Lechugas. They did not particularly enjoy the place because to them it was the land of dinosaurs since Old people go there and the place smells like Vicks. I liked it for that very reason. The place was familiar and comfortable where I could be with old friends from the neighborhood. Because my friends were with me, it was one of the only places where it felt like home.

Ricky was a member of Lechugas’ Rat Pack. His close buddies Michael, Gary, Frankie and the owner Chuck would congregate at Lechugas to talk shop. Together they would drink beer and have passionate conversations about the pro league and the legendary players in basketball, baseball and football. The corner of the bar was their man cave where they met about once a week. They laughed at each other’s jokes, entertained each other with stories of machismo, and truly enjoyed life when they were hanging out in their cave. This time was priceless to them, even if it meant the fun would only be for a few hours.

Thursday was amateur night at Lechugas. Marti and Marie had just kicked off the evening karaoke. I was lucky enough to be selected as the first singer. Being the first singer of the night has its advantages. No one can compare the first singer to the previous singer because there is no previous singer. Also, the first singer on the call rotation is selected to sing more times throughout the night than the other singers. Most importantly, the first singer has the honor of singing two songs back-to-back to kick off the night’s competition. I had an annoyingly long day at work and was prepared to release the walloping tension in my head that night at Lechugas. My goal was to make the base from the subwoofers burst through my voice, deafening my audience while alleviating my discomfort. I was out with a group of my close friends. It was almost eight o’clock and I had to go to work the next day. I specifically told my friend Kathy that I only wanted to be out for an hour. However, I knew I would stay past ten if necessary, just to sing my selection, Dreams by Stevie Nicks.

Suddenly, Marti yells into a microphone, Let’s get Nancy up here! Where’s she at? On Marti’s cue the cheering squad at my table began to stand up one by one and applaud as if to request an encore even before I started to sing. They chanted my name as they clapped enthusiastically. I was the last one to stand. Totally embarrassed by their adolescent behavior, I found my courage and managed to walk onto the stage with poise and confidence. When I reached the DJ area, I turned toward my diehard fan club and thanked them for their overzealous introduction. I raised my hands and slowly motioned them to sit down. I was thrilled to be on stage but quickly got very agitated when the music took longer than expected to start. I responded to piercing glares from the people standing in the front row by gawking right back at them. I was eager to feel Stevie’s music take control of my voice, and just then the music started.

The crowd in the front row finally began to sit down. Their once impersonal eyes faded into the audience leaving an aura of anticipation for the show to begin. When everyone was seated, I was clearly visible under the spotlight from any corner of the lounge. I was wearing torn Levi shorts and a white halter top with a red and black Michael Jordan baseball cap. My friend Gary would often tell me that I could make a baseball cap look good. I wore sandals with a low heal because I wanted my legs to appear longer than they actually were. I was far from the epitome of a hot babe, but I still looked good. I was cute, simple and undisputedly, unique.

I loved Stevie Nicks. She was the only female contemporary pop/rock artist whose music influenced me well past my teenage years. Stevie’s lyrics inspired and guided me into my performance. The magnetic pulse of the music instantly revived my body and I allowed myself to flow freely in and out of each note. As my body rocked and swayed, every knot in my neck started to unravel. My hips moved perfectly in sync with the beat. I began to sing my favorite part of the song, Players only love you when they’re playing. As I sang, I turned my head slightly to the side as to give the audience a sultry look over my right shoulder. I glanced at the long hallway and past two square windows by the front area of the bar. That was when I first noticed him.

I lost my concentration when I saw Ricky and momentarily forgot the words to a song that I habitually recited since I was a teenager. My eyes desperately scanned the big screen that displayed the lyrics to try and find my place before the audience discovered what was happening. Ricky glided into the room like an eagle with strong wings fully extended. Determined to make me his prey, he swooped down and seemed to fly around me in circles. When he realized he caught my attention, Ricky flew away and landed near the end of the bar. He perched himself far back in the corner and ordered a Cuba Libre, what I later discovered was his signature drink of choice.

Ricky captivated me with his presence to the point where I had to know more. Ricky caught my attention and definitely knew I was trying to get his, but he refused to look directly at me. Instead, in a timid and shy sort of way, Ricky’s eyes were fixed down at his drink, yet I noticed he was peeking over the rim of his glass to get a glimpse of me. He stood in a dimly lit corner of the bar like a beacon in the night. His charm was guiding me as I sang. Ricky was smiling. His dimples complemented his face handsomely. He was tall and muscular yet appeared adorably gentle like a great big teddy bear. I was enthralled with all of Ricky’s stellar characteristics and unconsciously let them take over my stage. I was hypnotized by this man and fully engaged in the beauty of the moment unaware that my second selection started to play, I Believe In You and Me by Whitney Houston. I transitioned from the trance back into the song. The melody of this track was slower, thus enabling me to give Ricky a very sensual, private performance. As I serenaded him like a siren on our exclusive island, the precision of my body movements lured him into a web of enchantment. I demanded to have Ricky’s undivided attention. I reached out in spirit past the smoke-filled room to capture what I had already claimed as mine. From the distance, I felt Ricky’s eyes on me. I could sense him watching me in a daze as I continued to softly sing before him.

When the song ended the applause rumbled through the atmosphere as if the audience was urging me to sing another song. My friend Gary was very emotional and wiped away the tears from his eyes. He was touched by the performance I directed at Ricky especially since Gary had recently separated from his girlfriend. My groupies were much louder this time and when they all stood up, I was able to duck down and sneak off the stage. Mortified that I had just made a complete fool out of myself singing to a total stranger, I anxiously blended into the group at my table, swiftly sat down, and pretended I was not the singer on the stage just seconds ago. When Marti called the next singer, I had recovered back to being just another groupie in the bar. That was when my friend Kathy leaned toward me and whispered, Don’t look now, but that guy in the corner, the one with the big teeth, just sent you a drink. I instantly turned into driftwood and I wanted to float away through the back door. I sat frozen for a moment facing the wall in front of me looking bewildered and gazing outward at nothing. I thought to myself, oh my what did I do? This was only karaoke, but I was embarrassed and felt like a stripper ready to collect her next dollar bill from a lap dance she just performed.

Kathy, who was a few years older than me, loved to give me her Dr. Phil lecture. She assured me that she would handle the situation. She said she would call her waitress friend, Augusta, to our table and instruct her to give Ricky a message. Augusta had long straggly curls of blond hair that was over processed at the ends. Augusta was to tell Ricky that I already had a boyfriend. Further, Augusta was to make sure Ricky knew I was not interested in him and I did not want another drink! I thought Kathy’s devious plan could be effective in getting rid of someone and potentially might work. I was almost ready to let her execute the plan and talk to Augusta. After all, I was not ready for a relationship, and all I wanted to do that night was hang out for a few hours. Although it was only a drink, I could not have anything more than that. Still, it was only a drink.

Then it happened! I had to look back at Ricky one more time. When I did, he bestowed his will on me. I grabbed Kathy’s arm and pulled her back into her seat! I told her to wait. I was having second thoughts about her plan. This man was really good looking! I told Kathy, No, you can’t do that. He might be my husband someday. I changed the game plan and told Kathy to give her waitress friend a different message. Tell the guy with the big teeth that I said, Thank you, I truly appreciate the drink; I was very parched from singing. Little did I realize how simple messages communicated among people in a singles bar who are drinking zealously can be easily distorted and translated into foul bar lingo. Four shots of tequila can convert an Oxford educated orator into a rebel-rousing teenage thug who delights in disgusting and offensive language. In the same regard, bar lingo is a nomenclature for some people who long to expose the stand-up comedian in themselves and hunger for humor. Speaking bar lingo guarantees that not all will have the same interpretation. Some people will find the communication to be the funniest thing they ever heard, while others will find it quite repugnant.

Bar lingo after 10 P.M. from a waitress, who is herself pretty tipsy, has a distinctive vernacular that disregards proper English etiquette. What came out of Augusta’s mouth was inappropriate to say the least. In a rough, raspy voice she yelled directly at Ricky so everyone around him could hear her, Ricky! She wants to rock your boots! Translation: I want to sleep with him. I did not hear what Augusta said, and yet I worried that something went terribly wrong in delivering the message when I saw Ricky look up at me. He seemed flabbergasted at being the recipient of such a message and nearly spit out his drink! Everyone around him started laughing. I could hear Augusta’s hysterical laughing, infused with a smoker’s dry cough, from across the bar. Ricky’s friends turned toward him and gave him a high five as if to congratulate him for sealing the deal! Ricky watched Augusta walk back to my table. When she approached me, she was still laughing. Augusta, placed one hand on her hip,